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now for the final part of the four-part Late Night Tales story Flat of Angles
written by Simon Cleary and read by me Benedict Cumberbatch
I didn't know anything could be so perfect
the lights of the Mirabal
a thousand swirling eyes
I dream of relaxing nights
there are loads of people in my flat when I got home
I'm already one for big crowds
makes me want to retreat into my shell
I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out
this is a reconstruction
I can't tell how it happened
there are too many angles,too many reflections
the harder I look at another,the more I see myself
it feels like I'm here alone in this crowd
myself projected round the room
the Mirrorball,a beam splitter
when contentment comes upon me ,I have to find ways to destroy it
I slide the hairs in the coffee cup up its walls
click the Catalan while it rushes and hisses
I danced with spiders
one of those spindly ones or legs and angles made up of lines is feasting on its prey caught up in a mesh
the kettle clicks off
my skin creeps and my head hurts
I need to suffer more
I was feeling too comfortable for a second there I guess
he was there to save me
alone in a freezing wooden flawed flat which I couldn't heat
he sent me this Mirabal ordered on the Internet
he came later
I'd had no money for a fewdays
he was desperate for a cigarette
I remembered that when I was younger
I'd hid some in a tin full of movie stubs
and limited edition chocolate bar wrappers
I found that in and inside was one single cigarette
throwing the stuff aside
I placed the cigarette carefully on my dry lips and patter caked my pockets in a panic
located lighter and flicked the flame into existence
I drew deeply tobacco and paper
crackling my alveoli filled my blood vessels roared
my scalp tingled and stomach turned
hairs on my arm stood up and so did I
lunging headfirst for the window flung open in one motion
drinking down the black cool air as my mind shrieked
I can't feel my arms
now I'm here who's been a happy person
I work hard and try not to let people down
if they would not be there
there would be no one to let down
things have to be a certain way
there is a beauty in order
I've cleaned this flat today before leaving for work there
I cleaned the storeroom arranged items in
the window smile that the customers
chose appropriate music wrap gifts gave
change smile that the staff told them stories of my past
smoked a cigarette by the bins,ordered sage colored visors from the parlaying catalogue
lay down on the four-poster bed with no mattress
glanced out of the window ,cleaned the windows ,warm some soup,dusted the labs ,waited for the Sun to set,counted listened locked
and then it was time to walk home
this is not my town ,but then again where is?
these are not my people,but is anyone really?
he is here again
wind milling round the rooms
knocking ashtrays over
bellowing to be heard
desperation in his eyes
I know how he feels
but he does something about it
he gets out of his face ,waits for a gap in the conversation
and jabbers his philosophy without solicitation
our eyes meet across the room
and I feel a little like the spider
I gathered the spent cans in a blue plastic off-licence bag and smile as I stoop
how is your weak beam
well work was quite good sold the chiminea last and looking forward to tonight
you've been listening to Late Night Tales
Music and stories worth staying up for
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